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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#374761voted by our readers
By Anonymous
AT THE END OF WINTER THERE AREroads stained only by salt,not the expected snow.Early morning chillsthe skin between my fingersand flicks my ears,asks me why I bo...
AT THE END OF WINTER THERE AREroads stained only by salt,not the expected snow.Early morning chillsthe skin between my fingersand flicks my ears,asks me why I bo...